


blow the house down

by activatingAggro (pigeonfancier)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Casteism | Hemophobia (Homestuck), Cuckolding, M/M, Nonethical Nonmonogamy, Oral Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 14:19:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17326601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonfancier/pseuds/activatingAggro
Summary: And you’d been involved at first, in pretty much every way possible. It's just.. you're not into lowbloods? They're always too fucking hot, and about the point that the green had straddled you, clamping knees around you that'd felt more like irons, you'd just had to call it quits. You just needed a breather. No need to stop on your account!And Tomie hadn’t. You have to admit, it’s kind of weird how he definitely doesn't have any of your distaste for pailing below your caste. Absolutely fucking none, judging by how incredibly noisy he's been about enjoying all of this. That's fine by you, honestly? You’re not jealous. It’s more than fine, really, because just because you're not keen on getting involved doesn't mean you can't enjoy what's basically your own personal porn, right?Tomie likes threesomes. Kua rolls with it, usually, but when it comes to lowbloods, sometimes he just getscompetitive.





	blow the house down

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you write porn to prove you can write porn. #YOLO.
> 
> * * *
> 
> These chucklefucks are:
> 
> Tomois and Kua, Kua being the brickhouse on the bottom. Tomois belongs to skegulium on here and tumblr, and more of them can be found in their tags! 

If you're perfectly honest, the problem with the whole threesome thing is not, like Tomie claims, that you're bad at sharing. You are absolutely great at sharing! Your name is Calico Kuanfu, and while technically, you're a paingineer for Hiveship 76, one of the thousands that operate off of the near-planetary stations.. well, literally speaking, you're a master of fucking sharing everything.

You share your opinions, constantly. You share your thoughts! You've shared the shirt off of your back, literally, for a violet crossing a puddle, just to make a point about proper hemoloyalty to your moirail and to see if the gesture would make her laugh.

You could even share your kismesis, no matter what Tomie said, if he wasn't so determined to pick up fucking greenbloods.

"C'mon," he'd said at the bar, swishing the coolant in his glass. It's the local specialty of Canteen 35-E, some blue slush with bulbs inside that pulse with blue light and burst under your fangs. They say it's an alien booze. You're pretty sure it's just literal slurry from the engineroom. "Like, are you serious, dude? You can't just turn him down because he's green." He gestures towards the troll in question with his glass: "- he couldn't be more your type if he was spouting clown literature."

He's only mostly right. The greenblood's built broad, with a stickball player's shoulders and a jaw that stretches for days. He's got a nice mouth, full and with wrinkles at the end that come with being expressive. And when he laughs, his fangs are sharp, the gold caps glittering under the terminal's pulse of lightgrubs.

"He's got long horns," you point out, and Tomie catches you hard in the side with his elbow.

"We're not turning him down just because of your weird horn fetish, dude!"

Some trolls like people with long, long racks. It gives you something to grab, for starters. And even you can admit that there's a pleasant kind of jarring to hooking your horns in with someone else and yanking, or clattering hard enough that you can feel the vibrations at the base of your spine. But that's never been you, on average.

Long horns feel like competition. You're not interested in competing with a green who'll be dead, practically, between one blink and the next, but of course Tomie doesn’t get that. He doesn’t fucking get anything, if you don’t spell it out, and then he starts boo-hooing about hemoism.

So you don’t bother. "It's not a horn fetish," you say, irritable, but Tomie's already jolting up in his seat, arm stretched high as he waves the greenblood over.

* * *

There's one thing you can admit is nice about all of this, and it's that as far as hivestems go, the place Greenie hauls you back to isn't a complete waste.

It is what it is! You mean, it was never going to be great: after all, it’s a greenblood's hivestem, crowded and small, with air heavy with potpurri, like that could ever hide the fact it’s been recycled at least three times over. Still, it’s alright. The walls are unpaneled steel, nothing like the faux wood of the ward you and Tomie stay in, but there's no dents in them. The tile underfoot still sounds like proper carapace, not just linoleumn. And if the din of the neighbour's footsteps above you is distracting, it's familiar, too.

It almost reminds you of being back at the Rickshaws! They don't pack bluebloods in like this on the stations. Nah, they give you huge rooms, big enough that they might be as well be their own apartments each, bare and minimalistic and without so much as a lusus basket to liven it all up. So, really, you’ll give it to Tomie in this sense. Dude might love slumming it, but his other partners living spaces, at least, are always charming in a way little else is up in space. This greenblood's hive is full of kitschy shit, too, the sort of statement clutter that trolls love to fill their hives with: items carved out of driftwood, small polished stones, a set of bones made to look like they came from a Steelborn.

It's nice. It's the sort of shit that tells a story, and examining the driftwood to try and figure out what it’s saying is the perfect distraction for the fact your not-quite-pitch is fucking someone on the bed next to you.

Oh, you were into it at first! There's just certain angles Tomie hits that you can't quite appreciate when he's under you, and complain as you will, the greenblood's definitely got a body on him. The roll of his hips could probably launch a thousand ships, if the right kind of trolls were involved.

And you’d been involved at first, in pretty much every way possible. It's just.. you're not into lowbloods? They're always too fucking hot, and about the point that the green had straddled you, clamping knees around you that'd felt more like irons, you'd just had to call it quits. You just needed a breather. No need to stop on your account!

And Tomie hadn’t. You have to admit, it’s kind of weird how he definitely doesn't have any of your distaste for pailing below your caste. Absolutely fucking none, judging by how incredibly noisy he's been about enjoying all of this. That's fine by you, honestly? You’re not jealous. It’s more than fine, really, because just because you're not keen on getting involved doesn't mean you can't enjoy what's basically your own personal porn, right?

Sometimes you just get distracted by a different kind of wood. But then Tomie actually fucking moans, low and throaty, and -

Tomie’s on his knees, the greenblood bent over him, his mouth close to your not-pitch’s ears. The both of them positioned like this, you can admire the curve of Tomie’s spine, the perfect kind of angle that you don’t get to see often. More importantly, you can memorise the way that his face shifts when the greenblood rocks his hips forward, pushing his bulge in just a little farther. It’s a monster, as far as these things go, thick as your wrist at the tip of it and just widening as it’d reached the base. If Tomie can get all of this in him, that’s one thing. If he can walk after, though..

There’s only a few things you’ve ever held dear in your life, standards that you refuse to lose, and one of those is not getting fucked by trolls so hot they’ll give you burns. The other is not fucking hoofbeasts, metaphorical or otherwise, but you guess that’s the plight of Tomie being bluer than you. You’re pretty sure he’s been wet for it since he grabbed a handful back in the club.

And - okay, you’re not going to let anyone stick that monster into you, on account of the fact you appreciate your mobility, now and forever, but that doesn’t mean you don’t appreciate the way Tomie’s breathing. It's all shallow gasps, the sort that keep trailing towards outright whines, and the greenblood must be hitting just the right spot, because your not-pitch keeps fucking moaning. There’s blue in his cheeks, mottling the back of his neck, deep enough that it matches his bulge.

Because, yeah, he’s getting fucked so hard that his bulge’s unsheathed fully, straining against the smooth arc of his stomach each time the greenblood rocks forward. It’s actively damp, that perfect navy beading at the tip of it, and, okay, this right here? The way he practically fucking keens in protest when the greenblood pulls back, almost far enough to exit entirely? That’s hot.

If you were nicer, you’d take care of his bulge for him. But you’ve got a perfect angle to watch your kismesis’s face from here, the way he keeps hovering right at the edge of too much, so instead, you just palm your own bulge. Your fingers curl along the underside. Your thumb curls into the seam at the base, right where it splits, and sweeps of experience mean that when you rub it, it’s a flood of warmth you can feel all the way in your nook.

The greenblood leans forward, his teeth raking Tomie’s ear. "Had enough?" the greenblood asks, and your not-pitch actually just fucking laughs, and - okay, yeah, you could watch this all night.

Of course, once you think that, of course it fucking jinxes it. It's only a few minutes later the greenblood starts to complain about a cramp in his leg, one that an adjustment alone doesn’t fix. Lowbloods just don’t have stamina. He pulls out, settling back on the bed, and.. you’re not going to lie? You’re a little disgruntled.

But thankfully, the greenblood isn’t paying any attention to you. And Tomie's a good sport about it, same as he always is. “Sure, that’s fine,” he says, amiable enough as if he doesn’t mind at all. (Uncharitably, you think, he probably doesn’t. He must be used to it, when he spends so much time pailing lowbloods.) “But, like, here, just lie back, then --”

And then he’s lowering his mouth onto his bulge.

This is not, you decide, the sort of view you’re interested in at all.

“What a view,” you say conversationally, slouching nearer to the two of them. The greenblood glances at you. He’s propped himself up on his elbows, the better to see the way Tomie’s bobbing down. And like this.. well, he’s got a nice face, you guess, the sort that’s all edge and long eyelashes. It’s a shame you don’t remember his name, because you’re pretty sure that Tomie introduced the two of you. Luckily, you’ve got an easy fix for that. “Right, dude?”

“It’s - nn - not too bad,” he breathes, and then manages a laugh. “I guess.” It’s a shame, too, that he’s green. He’s got good teeth! You’ve always gotten on better with the bluebloods that Tomie’s hauled in to you, though. For one, you can touch them without feeling like you need a fan, or for the sparkplug he’d dragged hive that once, a fucking icepack. For second..

You’re not a jealous troll! But there’s some methodological part of you that always gets competitive when it comes to other trolls getting pitch with Tomie. It works out, mostly. Tomois gets all the attention he could ask for while you work out some of your aggression, and new trolls always seem to come up with new ways of dragging reactions out of him. You’re an engineer, not a slurtigonist. You don’t, on average, think of things like fucking pegging, but that’s fine.

You’re a pirate. You were practically made to steal. And not just ideas.

In a lot of ways, you think, you know Tomois better than your not-pitch even knows. So you lean forward, snapping your fingers once, twice - and then, when you do it a third time, his gaze finally snaps towards you. “I have some questions! A couple of suggestions,” you tell him, just to hear the way the greenblood snorts. You’re not interested in him, and you’re about to fuck him over - metaphorically - but that doesn’t mean you have to, like, exclude him. “Y’know, to make it more fun.”

The greenblood’s laugh cuts off. “Uh.” He glances down at Tomie, but Tomie’s doing his best to ignore the both of you, his cheeks pulled in as he slides down on the bulge. There’s only so far it’ll go in a throat! You suppose that’s why he’s focusing on that.

If it was anyone else, at least, you’d totally guess that. But you know Tomie, and you know that it isn’t about focus. No, he’s just doing his best to ignore you.

That’s alright. It won’t last. “I mean, what you’re doing is fine,” you reassure him, and you reach out to pat him. His knee’s hot as hell itself under your palm, but you don’t let you expression change. “Who doesn’t like grunting? It’s totally hot, and all that! Like, honestly, it’s pretty fucking traditional? And, like, it’s still a horse noise, so -”

The greenblood blinks at you. His face is slowly paling, like someone’s draining blood from him with each word, and good.

“So don’t worry,” you continue, blithe. “You’re doing fine! But I just wanted to say, like, you could probably do better. He’s open-minded, y’know? So have you ever thought about, like, neighing? That way he can really get into it. Oh, don’t look at me like that, dude, I guess you could whinny, too? He’s so into whinnying. And it’s so much easier to do right, so you don’t even, like, have to worry.”

“Just take in a deep breath,” you tell him, and then you sidle up to him, letting his shoulder rest against your collar. Slinging an arm next to his neck for balance, ignoring the way he’s practically fucking scalding, you stage-whisper:

“Rock your hips forward, and howl, like the wild stallion you are.”

And there you go! There's the wet pop as Tomie pulls off entirely. The greenblood winces as you let go of him, putting some space back between the two of you just as Tomie glares at you. “Hold the fuck on, horsefucker,” he snaps, lip curled enough to show the blunted edges of his fang. “Don’t shove your weird hoofbeast fetish onto me! And, like - seriously? Musclebeasts don’t howl, what the fuck? Have you actually ever seen a hoofbeast, or do you just, like, fap to them in secret when no one’s looking?”

"Of course you’d know if they howled. Jeez! Look at that dedication,” you tell the green, amused. God, the room feels like a balm after that. “By the way, Tomie, like, if I was quadrant blurring, this would be adorable? Just, like, for the record. I want you to know, your entire weird chugging thing you were doing - that was totally great. Like, was it hot? No. But it was adorable, like watching someone walk into a glass door, because they totally missed the sign."

"Oh my god, shut up."

"No, seriously! It would be - no, it was completely precious, I can recognise your efforts, here." He's pushing back his hair, looking for all the world like you personally yanked him off that dude's bulge. It's unfair to be blamed for something he totally did himself, but that's alright. You're used to Tomie's moods. And you're used to having to handle them, as long-suffering and - haha, shit, if you try to do this sanctimonious bullshit even in your head, you're going to laugh and ruin everything.

This relies on a pokerface! You’re nothing but earnestly, deeply invested in Tomie’s blowjob acumen, so you keep your eyes wide and your voice earnest. "Don’t be so fucking rude," you scold him. "I'm trying to, like, help you out! Support you! Be a friend! Offer advice!"

"I know how to suck a bulge, Kua!"

"Sure, but do you know how to do one, like, the best way? Abso fucking lutely not. There is no way you know how to do that.” You shake your head. “Absolutely not. So you should take my advice, and, like, say thank you, because I am totally being kind and generous here, dude. Because, like, by the way, you're totally welcome -"

You absolutely deserve it when Tomie sits up, leans over, and pops you hard in the chest.

Your pitch's as skinny as a reed, but a navies a navy: the hit's hard enough that you fall back onto the bed, the impact shaking a laugh out of you. "Wow! Dude!"

“You’re such nookrot,” he tells you, but it’s fond, and when you grin at him, he matches it. For a second! Then he remembers he’s annoyed again, his expression souring as he takes you in. It’s absolutely worth it, though, because the greenblood might as well be dead on the bed beside you.

This is kind of like taking someone’s pail and fucking their matesprit in it, you have to admit, but honestly, it’s on him. Who takes a break in the middle of sex? But it’s hard to focus on that train of thought, when Tomie’s still talking: “- seriously, what the fuck? I’ve been doing this for sweeps,” he snaps. “I am literally the best person at blowjobs you will ever fucking meet.”

Then he reaches down, wrapping his hand around the larger of your two bulges and squeezing, just hard enough to catch your attention. "Okay," you breathe. You’ve still got a hand over the center, thumb working a familiar pattern into the seam, but - Tomie’s warmer than you, just enough to feel fucking amazing. Your hips rock up, your bulges arching to get at more of his skin. "Alright,” you breathe: “- we’re off to a good start -"

"Oh my god, Kua." Tomie huffs, curling his lip. "Can you stop talking for just two fucking seconds?" he complains. Your bulges are twining around his hand, pushing between his fingers, prying at the gaps between them in search of anything they can dig into. Tomie's hands are smooth, soft in a way that your usual partners aren't, smoother still than yours by a fucking barometer. He feels amazing, same as always.

But you're not ten sweeps, so distracted by a little touch that you can't keep up the banter.

"Absolutely no -"

At least until Tomie lets go. You whine, your bulges twining together immediately in the absence of his hand, but you barely have time to process how that feels before he leans down and takes them whole.

Tomie's low for a navy, and you're high for one. The difference is just enough that his mouth is hot around you, but not enough to burn. This is why you like fucking your castemates. That, and - Tomie's dull-fanged, but there's still that prickle of uneasy pleasure at the back of your neck as his fangs graze the shaft. This could be so fucking dangerous, if you fooled around with the wrong troll.

That's part of what makes oral hot. At least he's not in your nook, but that thought just sends warmth pooling low. God, you’re practically fucking dripping, your nook pulsing like will alone could give you something to fill it. This is the benefit of threesomes, right here, when you manage to make Tomie forget what he’s doing so thoroughly that you’re the only person in the room. It’s satisfying, in a way that cuts straight to the point.

You're not one for getting fucked, usually, but -

"Y'know." Your voice's gone all breathless. It's hard not to, when there's soft flesh fucking engulfing you. "Did you put on chapstick? I can’t tell, but it feels like maybe you, like, might have put on chapstick? What d'you think, dude?" The greenblood's right next to the two of you, lips thin with something that could be interest, or irritation. His bulge's still out, curled taut to disappear past the green-flushed lips of his nook, but he's not, say, looking at Tomie's body.

No, he's watching the way his head falls on your bulge, as petulant as if you'd taken his toy. The resentment’s the hottest thing you’ve seen all night, you think. Right now, you almost want to kiss him, living brick or no.

Almost. As is.. you’re not usually one to get fucked. But hell, if you've got an aggrieved audience, practically begging you to put on a fucking show, who are you to object? "What d'you think, dude?" you ask Greene. He scowls at you, cheeks flushing green.

"What?"

"Do you," you say, with a lazy, patient smile, and you twine your hand into Tomie's hair, just for the way the movement makes Greene look down, "think he's wearing chapstick? Because, like, on second thought? I don't. Kind of chapped down there, dude! What, d'you need to go buy so--"

The sharp rap of Tomie's knuckles on your thigh's enough to catch your attention. Soon as you look at him, he squints up at you, eyebrows up: seriously? If he could frown, he probably would be! If he could talk, he'd probably be trying to fucking scold you for being a prick. But he can't talk. All he can do is make a noise like he's trying to say something, tongue lapping against the bottom of you like he's forgotten he's got his mouth stuffed full, and haha, wow. You arch up against him, tangling your hand in his hair to keep him in place, and.. god, you're not a bad quadrant. If it was anyone else, you wouldn't push his head down.

But you know what'll happen. His entire fucking throat constricts around you, pulsing so hard that you nearly come right then and there. His nails dig into your thigh, clear as a bell through the fog of pleasure, sharp enough to draw blood. He doesn't pull off of you, though. It's a warning, not a refusal. "Alright. Alright! Sorry. Get off of me," you say, releasing his hair, and your hands are a little shakey. So's your voice. You just need to take a minute, focus on anything other than Tomie.

Think about Ognais, maybe. (Too weird.) Think about, shit, your lusus. (Definitely too weird.) Flowing water. A bad catch. Dead fish. The Empress in her skintight jumpsuit, and god, you've never fucked a tyrian, but what if she was here, instead of fucking Greene -

Tomie swallows, your bulge pulling until it curls against the roof of his mouth, and there's no point in thinking about anything at all. It's like the tide rolling in. It's warmth and pleasure and a flare of satisfaction that ripples across your skin, leaving you burning and depleted in the aftermath -

\- all the way until Tomie pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. There's blue streaked there. You have no small measure of satisfaction when he wipes it off irritably onto the bedspread. If you’re lucky, it’ll stain.

"I can't believe you yanked my hair!"

"I am so sorry," you lie, but it's such a fucking lie, you don't even finish the sentence before you're laughing. So Tomie just swats you again, right on the scratches, hard enough that you choke mid-laugh. "Hey! You’re killing me!”

“You deserve to be culled,” he tells you. “I should personally report you to ISE, dude. Just tell them, hey, please come out here right now? I’ve got a weird dude with a musclebeast in my bed, and he’s, like, completely ruining my groove here.”

“I’m so-” But you choke on the word halfway the sentence, snorting so hard that your eyes tear up. “Okay, okay,” you say, holding your hands up in front of you. “Don’t report me to ISE, okay? I am totally apologetic, even if I am not sorry, and yes, that is absolutely possible, shut up. Why don’t, like, let me make it up to you instead? C’mon, it’ll be fun. And by the time we’re done --”

You glance to the side. The greenblood’s watching, clearly unimpressed, and.. damn, it’s a shame you don’t know his name. Oh, well. You wouldn’t have remembered it, anyway, so you just grin wide instead, showing off all of your razor-sharp teeth. “- I bet longhorns here’ll have his, like, thigh all uncramped. Right?”

“Right,” he says, deadpan, and he stretches out his arms above his head. “Completely.”

Tomie squints at you. Then he squints at the greenblood. “Well,” he says, suspicious, “fine, but if you neigh ---”

The problem with threesomes isn’t that you’re bad at sharing, you decide.

It’s just that it’s so much more entertaining when you don’t.


End file.
